


nothing gold can stay

by mirabilis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Future Fic, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Roommates, Slow Burn, author also apologizes for using Bokuto as comedic relief, author uses too many sun metaphors, it's really not funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirabilis/pseuds/mirabilis
Summary: “I wonder how far away the sun is from our grasp?” Shouyou wonders, peeling back another page with the index of his thumb.He’s not staring, but he is.Absentmindedly, he reaches to the ceiling, as if he’s searching for something. But what Shouyou doesn’t know is that he’s so close to becoming the sun. He’s one step closer, should Atsumu tell him?The sun gave him the answer, and he obliged.You are 148.27 million kilometers from the sun Shouyou, but one kilometer from being the sun.(Or: Atsumu's self-discovery as to realizing how much being in love sucks).
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 38
Kudos: 235





	nothing gold can stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perennials](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/gifts).



> hello, I've risen from the bottom pits of hell after months to write this with my blood sweat and tears so i hope you enjoy... 
> 
> title is from 'nothing gold can stay' by Robert Frost
> 
> warning for: too many sun metaphors and just so much imagery i apologize in advance also for grammar errors or anything out of the ordinary... and atsumu has a potty mouth... 
> 
> but hither forth and prosper

Atsumu learns two things. The first being that he’s definitely allergic to pickles, and second being that Hinata Shouyou can’t spell the alphabet backwards. 

He discovers the latter through a series of trial and errors of horrendous contests between his teammates. What he means to say is that Bokuto challenged Shouyou to a bet that he couldn’t spell the alphabet backwards. What surprises all of them is that Bokuto is a man of many talents, suppressing the talent of drowning himself in bowls of yakiniku, building the tallest sand castle. Unfortunately for Shouyou, he develops a speech impediment when held under pressure. Now how Atsumu knows this will forever dwell as a mystery but given the circumstances, Shouyou loses. And thus Bokuto reigns the title of being the only one to spell the alphabet backwards. 

What a spectacular talent indeed. 

Luckily there’s Sakusa whose own wrist talent is on a whole other level of a freak show. Atsumu is proud to announce that he’s almost broken his hand attempting that dumb incredible cut he does on the court. Thanks to Atsumu of course. But case in point, a freak. But Shouyou is different, he’s irresponsible. He’s the calm before the storm, spontaneous and unconstrained under the cage he’s been locked into. Hinata Shouyou is a monster. A monster hidden in the shadow, his hunger awakening him. He reeks of hunger and seeks the sun, and Atsumu waits to tenderly place it into his hands to satisfy his appetite. 

Atsumu is not shit-faced in love with Hinata Shouyou. He is not a robot void of emotions like Sakusa who’s only current setting is acting emotionally constipated. Shouyou is the earth that he dares to walk upon, though he’s pretty confident that he’s the one being stepped on at this point. 

Exhibit A: Shouyou can’t fold laundry, but on the contrary, neither can Atsumu. So it becomes a ceaseless framework, but gets resolved. They unanimously agree that Shouyou’s sole responsibility is to transfer the dirty laundry to and from the set aside baskets all somewhat neatly tucked in the corner of their shared living room. 

To this day, Atsumu still holds their laundry for shit.

Then there’s god and the gigantic universe who gifted him with his unspeakable array of talents, he or they(he knows somebody’s up there looking at him from below with silent judgement). If not Sakusa, then elsewhere. He was gifted with a setter's hand, long and graceful as most elegant fingers that are bestowed to humans. 

But Shouyou, he’s different. The cracks and mounts and welts on his hands have built over the years grow into mountains. The challenges he’s suffered and climbed through, between the imperfections and the misfortunes that map together like the constellation comes forth the river that weaves them together. 

Shouyou is different but Atsumu wants to hold his hand. 

*

Exhibit B: Hinata Shouyou cannot cook, but then again, neither can he. It doesn’t help that Bokuto relishes himself in the company of their apartment after practice everyday just so he can rummage around their refrigerator as he pleases. Bokuto with his scrawny brain and raw muscles of stupidity. Unfortunately, Atsumu tends to ignite the flame of idiocy that’s gas lighted in that pea-sized brain of his. 

Take today, as he enters upon he immediately regrets entering the door. Enter Bokuto and his size 11 green crocs with small owls bedazzled on top and his MSBY jacket that’s an inch worm close to catching on fire. He’s resting, more like scampering on his, no their kitchen counter that just been wiped down with anti-bacterial wipes earlier last night. 

Sakusa came over again, to watch a shitty horror film, and possible to bully him. 

Take today, as he’s fanning out the burning smell of pancake mix with an unread newspaper that they’re somehow subscribed to. The fire department hasn’t arrived and no one’s burning so he figures everything is decently okay as of now. Except for Bokuto, as he gives a big owlish peer at Atsumu like he’s bird seeds on the food platter. 

“What the fuck?” 

Blinking twice, Bokuto frantically widens his teeth. “I was trying to make pancakes.” 

So forth, Atsumu blinks thrice before swatting Bokuto with the newspaper. “You can do that in yer own fuckin’ apartment.” 

Now Bokuto opens that stupid excuse of a mouth and begins to whine. His eyes widen like the ocean, a large ocean brim with alligator tears. “But Omi-Omi kicked me out of the apartment again.” 

Swatting away the remainder of the smoke, he uncovers the mysterious meat looking mix that’s supposed to be pancakes as he handles the hot pan with caution. 

“I may have accidentally trashed our kitchen, so I found a replacement.” you see, it’s at this exact moment that Atsumu begins to lose his last final brain cells. 

“What the fuck.” he repeats. 

Shouyou is at the gym, because he thinks he’ll grow taller and stronger by buying the VIP deluxe membership that he’s confident is just a hoax. It’s probably a cheap trick for gullible people(see: Hinata Shouyou). Atsumu likes to sleep in, watch the morning news, and continue to sleep in until morning practice. But Shouyou doesn’t wait for the world, he’s constantly moving that it’s almost difficult for even him to catch up. 

But Miya Atsumu likes challenges. He’s not the type to back down perhaps because he’s greedy, his body thrives under the rush of sweet nectar called volleyball. He can almost hold the sensation close to his palms, but one abundance he can never seem to catch between his hands is Shouyou. 

“You thought it was a good idea to fuckin’ cook in my kitchen just because Omi-Omi decisively kicked you out for the millionth time?” Atsumu clarifies. 

“Do you know how to cook?” he peevishly offers, looking too damn smug so early in the morning. He wants to shove it down his mouth. 

“I'm ordering in.” 

Bokuto claps his back excessively that he wheezes but for the brain the size of a grape, his incomprehensibility is understandable. “Good man.” 

A split second later, the key jingles in the keyhole trying to find the nooks and crannies before turning. Shouyou wakes in, gracefully taking off his shoes in all the glory of sweating and fresh air. He takes in the sweet air, fresh Aloe Vera and baby oil. It was odd so he focuses on the expression of excitement that settles on his face before quickly transforming into disgust. 

“What’s that smell?” he wrinkles his nose, folding his earphones around his phone and sets it down on the table which they bought from a tacky antique store. He’s 3000 percent the furniture is haunted, all he needs is Shouyou’s faith and a medium. 

Bokuto knows one apparently, which deeply concerns him but also doesn’t because he’s full of terrible surprises. 

In the glory of sweat and sweetness, Shouyou stands in the entryway of their apartment in a tight-fitted shirt and running shorts. His legs are covered by leggings but he knows beneath is creamy white skin that outshines even the brightest of stars. 

Shit. he’s staring, and he breaks his desperate glance because Atsumu is not in love with Shouyou. That’s impossible, incredibly foolish and impossible(did he mention that already?). 

Bokuto’s loud voice breaks the surface and possibly all sound boundaries on earth to interrupt his pathetic excuse of staring. “I’m hungry.” as Shouyou glides around the kitchen to crack open a fresh bottle of Pocari Sweat. 

With a flick of the wrist, he brings the newspaper to his head ten times harder because he deserves it. 

“Shut it Bokuto.” 

*

It was surprising when Shouyou had come stumbling at his front door a month ago, rain soaking through his thin gray parkour because Shouyou is an idiot and never checks the weather. Being halfway across the world where the sun never dies compared to rainy Japan, Atsumu feels humane enough to let him inside. It was also in the middle of the night, and Bokuto had kept him all night playing video games from that one fighting action thingy that makes his brain hurt from all the shitty sound effects. 

But Shouyou standing at his door birthed as the new man that's taller than before, Atsumu’s mind bends backward. His hair is still that terrible Cheeto colored stain, like someone dumped Cheeto dust on his head. 

(it’s nothing compared to his piss colored dye job, he blames Osamu). 

And because Atsumu is a gracious person, he allows him to sit on his couch, dragging his surplus of luggage's across the wooden floor. As soon as his head hit the pillow that had Atsumu brought out for him, Shouyou crashed asleep. That’s also inevitable, he must’ve been jet lagged. What troubles him even further is that he hasn’t spoken to him in years, so when a meteorite unexpectedly crashes into him, he had no other choice but to collapse. 

Shouyou is an unpredictable force of nature. Atsumu is helpless, and because he’s a terrible, terrible person he lets him crash for a week, which extends to a month and this is how they become roommates. And how Shouyou becomes a new member of the MSBY Black Jackals. 

*

Atsumu isn’t born with athleticism, or the raw power it wasn’t gifted to him as easily as others. He carves the potential with his own two hands until he’s bleeding from the splints dug into his fingers. Osamu on the other hand, beside being the annoying twin brother, is the opposite. He’s versatile in his capabilities, a far better volleyball player when it comes to hitting. But Atsumu of course, is better than him in everything else. 

He creates a path for himself, sets the bar high so he can fly, so he can watch others fly in the process. He doesn’t appreciate minuscule and measly obstacles in his way that he could easily overpass, and yet, why was Shouyou the greatest hurdle to jump over? 

“We could’ve beaten them.” Osamu snarls after their game, it’s over. They were going home, they couldn’t make it past the wolf in sheep’s clothing. The devil had taken them by surprise. 

With the impulsive of drowning himself with the nearest water bottle, he contemplates his decisions. 

“Mhmmm.” he mumbles, dragging himself off the bench before his eyes pry away from the danger. He gets one more glance at those eyes. 

What scares him is that the monster’s hunger is unsatisfied, those roaring molten eyes seek the unknown, a dark place full of monsters like him that seek hunger as he does. Shouyou gives him an awakening, an awakening to never mistaken him again. 

It’s worse, he wants him. It’s at that moment when he’s seventeen, when his heart skips a beat. 

*

At twenty three, he cohesively decides that he doesn't like Shouyou. In fact he despised him all throughout high school. He found him to be thorn in his side, digging deeper into his skin. But now he’s grown into a rose, fruitful and planted at his side. 

Atsumu ripens like a fresh fruit on the tree that his mother used to plant in their backyard when she claimed to have a green thumb. Tasteful with aptitude and the potential to blossom. But, would if the real flower to bloom was hidden in sight? Flourishing beneath the glistening sun that shines even on the darkest of days, Atsumu wonders what it would be like to touch the sun, can anyone tell him how far Icarus fell when he reached for the sun?

He drips in gold, the sun melts in front of him. Atsumu can fall forever, but when will he ever hit the ground? 

Shouyou stands from the summit, one step closer to reaching for the sky. But the sky's the limit, and so he too falls. 

“Did you know that the distance between the earth and the sun is 148.27 million kilometers?” Shouyou announces one day, it’s been over a month since the Bokuto vs Pancake fiasco and they’re lounging on the couch like vegetables. 

Atsumu lazily flickers over to Shouyou who’s riffling through the dumb NASA magazine Sakusa left on their table. Both he and Bokuto insist that the moon landing isn’t real and that’s the closest and only thing the pair will ever agree on. 

“Is that right? Where’d ya hear that from?” He asks, just to indulge him. 

Shouyou shakes his head, orange curls slick down his neck, water droplets propelling left and right, what is he, a freakin’ dog now? “I heard it from Sakusa-san, he’s weirdly infatuated with space.” 

Damn him and his influential impact of his dumb fascinations, he may as well tell Shouyou that aliens are real. 

“I wonder how far away the sun is from our grasp?” Shouyou wonders, peeling back another page with the index of his thumb. 

He’s not staring, but he is. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches to the ceiling, as if he’s searching for something. But what Shouyou doesn’t know is that he’s so close to becoming the sun. He’s one step closer, should Atsumu tell him? 

The sun gave him the answer, and he obliged. 

You are 148.27 million kilometers from the sun Shouyou, but one kilometer from being the sun.  
  


*

Even after Bokuto nearly burns his kitchen down, he insists on coming over for dinner. He’s minding his own business and definitely not waiting for Shouyou to come home. He’s dreadfully tired from evening practice and wants nothing more than an ice cold shower. But Bokuto, who wouldn’t know personal space even if it shoved itself into his space, storms his front door. 

Without looking up from his phone, Atsumu swipes through twitter because he isn’t a grandpa without any exposure to social media like Sakusa. “I thought I gave ya that key for emergencies.” 

“But this is an emergency,” Bokuto gives a whine that could put cats to shame. 

Finally, Atsumu had enough, well he’s always in the mood to throw Bokuto across the wall but today is a special occasion. How fast would it take to hide his enormously beefy body? Could he wipe the blood and remove all evidence? Shit, this a lot to process. 

Bokuto pops his head in and out of the edgy pillows that his mother insisted on buying as a housewarming gift. “What is your emergency this time?”

Bashfully, he ducks his head even further into the pillow, to the point that his hair bows into the pillow and he’s practically invisible. He would take a photo to use as cheap blackmail if he wasn’t so fucking irritated at the moment. 

“We ran out of Doritos.” 

Mentally, that’s when Atsumu hurls Bokuto across the wall. But this is reality, and there are some things that are beyond his control, so Atsumu grows a lovely purple vein on his forehead instead. 

“I’m going to kill you.” 

“Can I least have the Doritos first?”

Atsumu is a very tired man, he’s a grown man with priorities, the last dilemma he needs to add to his mental list of problems is the gigantic man-baby currently sitting on his(theirs, he forgets it every time) couch. 

Bokuto seems more than willing to plead his life for a bag of Doritos and Atsumu isn’t looking to invest in a throbbing headache, he shoos him away as Bokuto bolts to the kitchen. Since Bokuto has no boundaries and prospers on human attention, Atsumu is startled that he hasn’t started jumping on the Doritos like he’s found the fucking love of his life. 

Judging from the lost look in his eyes, Akaashi seems out of the question. It’s best not to break the news to Akaashi(the boyfriend) that he's been replaced by Spicy Nacho Doritos. 

Then again, he does have one, a significant other, which too is startling and starting to get on his nerves because Atsumu is single and more handsome then that big oaf. He has more attractive qualities, he’s a magnet. 

Is he that desperate to compete? If he was a magnet then why was he the one to be pulled by Shouyou? He can feel the electricity course through his skin, he can feel the pull, it’s addicting. Sometimes if he can get close enough, he can visualize the thread. A single thread that ties them together, besides the one variable in the equation. Atsumu has never been the brilliant mathematician in the family, but he’s certain that the unknown variable lies ahead. 

And what of his uncertainty? And what of the unknown? Does he fear the new monster hidden beneath the surface? If you ask him today he may answer— Do it, ask today, tomorrow— and he still may never be able to answer. 

So he does the right thing and waits. 

Patience runs thin, it does terrible monstrosities. It also makes him hungry, and to his terrible luck, Shouyou comes home with two boxes of greasy sausage pizza from the authentic Italian restaurant they’ve been buying from for the past week. 

“Thank god, I’m fucking starving.” 

Bokuto wheedles himself to steal two slices, taking an extra one for Sakusa, because I’m the best roommate!

He proudly justifies. No, Bokuto we all know you’re lying but nice try. The cheese is hot, too hot to be eaten right away. But because there are three grown men who haven’t eaten in hours they’re all stuffing their mouths while simultaneously burning their tongues. 

Licking off the tomato sauce that splatters on his cheek, he sneaks a glance(also since he has food on his face, he didn’t feel like a five year old in a high chair). 

With Bokuto snarfing down his pizza at point blank miles per hour, Shouyou timidly chows down on his own slice. 

The crust doesn’t swallow right, and he chokes. Thankfully, Bokuto doesn’t have to perform Heimlich, which is a relief. 

But Atsumu does look like a fool. Shouyou appears genuinely concerned as he’s coughing out pizza crust. Tell him something he didn’t know. 

I dare you. 

*

They have a routine apparently. Every Sunday, before morning practice(he lied— yes, he wakes up early), Atsumu dreadfully accompanies Sakusa on his weekly runs through the park that their apartment provides with a lovely imbalance of trails and courses that are bound to make you lose your way. Sunday is the one day that Shouyou sleeps in, and lets the world catch up to him. But as soon as the world dares to clutch close, he runs. 

Today is the same. Only this Sunday is different. 

He leaves Shouyou alone in the apartment, the sun peeks over the windowsills, hesitant if he could appear to begin the day. He’s exiting the apartment when he hears murmurs from across the next few halls down. He’s shitting himself, they were loud whispers as Sakusa comes outside wearing his fifty layers of window breakers and sweaters that aren’t enough to melt the ice caps in Antarctica. 

“Rough night?” He cracks a grin, almost howling in laughter as Sakusa only silently flips him off. 

Together they set out to begin their routine. Atsumu lags behind, just for the sake of being able to tread behind to enjoy nature. He’s been walking the same path for months, ever since they both rented their apartment. He can tell you every single detail along the path they run. Granted, he won’t do it now, but he likes to flex that small itty-bitty talent. 

Atsumu begins to rediscover why he hates running. It’s hot, too damn hot for such a cool morning. He’s wearing too many damn layers that his shirt is beginning to cling to his biceps. He briefly raises his head to hopefully be able to laugh at Sakusa, but he’s living his best life. Despite the fifty surplus layers of mattresses he’s wearing, not a single sweat breaks from his forehead. 

Sakusa gives a brief glance to see if he’s still straggling behind, and Atsumu winces as he nearly trips over a rock. Saltiness sparks like fireworks in his eyes which is quite odd because Sakusa would rather burn himself alive than have to come in close range with anything that smells like ash. Amusement lits up his eyes, churning together with the sunlight creating an ugly pigment of brown. “Need some help?” Like hell he’d ever need help from that asshole. 

“Fuck off.” 

*

He takes into consideration the circumstances. The lack of air conditioning, maximum capacity inside the gymnasium. He’s already thrown freezing water to cool himself, but the vents are broken meaning that they’ll be practicing in the afternoon when the sun breaks out at its highest peak. Atsumu is just a tad hateful. Especially when their coach is making them scramble around for some useless drill. Atsumu has no grievances against him, but his muscles tighten in protest. 

But Shouyou, he’s a ball of kinetic energy, constantly moving in a fleeting trajectory. But now, his energy is being conserved, as Shouyou assesses his surroundings. Atumu’s seen that stare before. He witnessed it when Shouyou was choosing between chocolate milk or Pocari. 

His eyes scrunch up in careful deliberation when Shouyou holds the gem in his hands. He can hear his heart beat from across the court. The gem: volleyball—shines brightly in the hands of the rightful owner.

Could Atsumu be the one to hand him the crowned jewel?

Assessing all of his surroundings, Shouyou takes flight. Atsumu places the ball into his hands, there’s no need to be prideful, it’s his job after all. As he smashes it, he hits it center court. This is only practice, and yet Atsumu inhales the bittersweet sensation that sticks to the roof of his tongue like chunky peanut butter. 

His feet gracefully hit the ground, like a dancer, Atsumu wouldn’t exactly know because he can’t fucking dance to save his life but the thought was there. Shouyou turns to give another of his wide-eyed smiles that’s large enough to fit all of Japan inside. It’s ridiculous as sweat glistens off his face, and Atsumu wants to throw himself out of the building. 

Oh how the mighty have fallen. 

*

Atsumu shrugs his can of asahi beer(canned, lukewarm). It swishes into the restrained surface, as he watches it conspire against him, threatening to leak. He’s too sober if he’s starting to notice detailed shit like that. Throwing his head back to get a glimpse of the candle lights hanging over his head. He’s also not so discreetly checking out Shouyou from across the bar. So he’s decided to grace us with his presence. Atsumu’s eyes dart around like bullets in anticipation, slim in skinny jeans that replace his Black Jackals uniform that he wears like a badge of honor. His cropped polo shirt hangs low below the slope of his collarbones. Tan and almost as dark as a crisp buttered bagel(he was definitely hungry). 

Atsumu calls a nearby waiter that has nothing better else to do to bring him shrimp tempura. Courtesy of being on Bokuto’s bill, he might’ve been very drunk when he offered to pay for everyone's drinks. Actually he was very drunk, and Akaashi is currently coaxing him from the bar table to prevent him from being an abomination to their team. Shouyou stands far away, where he can ogle at him from a distance without getting and looking like a total dumbass. 

Bokuto continues to screech from across the bar, possibly destroying all parts of the nerves inside of his ears. He downs his beer, and orders another. 

Then another, and another until his head is spinning in circles. He can count all ten of his fingers which is unusually strange. 

Atsamu throws in some fatty tuna rolls, because he’s hungry and definitely not in love. 

*

As he’s dragging himself out of the bar, Bokuto clinging to his side he realizes how terrible of ideas his brain produces. He could’ve been a party-pooper and left earlier like Sakusa. But no, since he tends to torture himself with poor decision- making, he stands in the fuckin’ cold waiting for his Uber. 

“I think my ass is numb.” Bokuto murmurs from the crook of his neck. 

“It’s yer’ fault we’re in the freezin’ cold, you dipshit.” He flicks his forehead passionately, Atsusmu’s remaining brain cells give him the ability to sympathize as his muscles ache from today’s win. 

The ache was a good one. 

But there are other aches that lie astray in his body, and he’d prefer to do anything but figure out what they were; or who they were from precisely. 

*

When Atsumu stumbles into the apartment he unearths two realizations: one— Atsumu is not alone and two— he’s clocked his big toe into the couch and it hurts. Like a lot. 

The alcohol makes him dizzy and he sees blurs of darkness, as he takes a staggering step. He needs to pee, that's the first order of necessity. His bladder feels as if it’s about to rip itself apart. So he pees, and as he’s wiping his hands with the satin(yes. Satin) dish towel, his eyes destroy themselves to focus on an unspoken sight. 

It softly weeps a mellow lullaby behind the settled snores. Shouyou lays asleep on their couch. It’s small, barely sizable to fit two large male bodies much less to hold someone of Shouyou’s height. It’s a sight to behold. And Atsumu wants to take it and cradle in his hands like his mother once did when he was far too small to remember. His small, broad shoulders that protrude beneath the blanket draped around his body. 

Atsumu is stuck between two terrible decisions. 

  1. He could walk away, pretending nothing happened. Excuse the racing beating of his heart that’s about to burst as the side effects of being extremely drunk. 
  2. Take one step closer and make another bad decision. 



Choose wisely. 

*

He chooses. 

*

The floorboards creep every time his foot carefully lifts itself to take one more grueling approach. Is he being too cautious? Better safe than sorry. 

The pit that wells in his stomach grows larger. Atsumu can feel the zealous moonlight splash on the canvas that’s laid out in front of her. The moonlight curves in one delicious long arc along the bow of his back. Shouyou is deep asleep. Which was great for Atsumu, as his eyes trace the dark light that imprints on the lining of his skin. 

Atsumu gulps. His throat is dry. Was he dehydrated? The kitchen is meters away and he has no motive to move towards the outer destination. 

A stir, sudden movement that causes him to steer back. Shouyou’s eyes are sticky, wet with sleep, warily flutter open rapidly like a million hummingbirds. 

“What time is it?” He asks, throat too groggy and incomprehensible but he’s able to capture the gist of his words. 

“Late. Go back to sleep.” He whispers, unable to steady the range of octaves his voice goes. He must’ve sounded like a ten year old going through puberty all over again. 

“You smell of asahi beer. How much did you have to drink?” Shouyou grumbles, mouth stuffed into the cushioned pillow. Clearly he’s falling in and out of consciousness. Bet you Sakusa’s face mask collection he won’t remember their conversation tomorrow morning. 

A pause.

Then a simple stir, “good night.” 

Shouyou does not respond. He’s fallen asleep and Atsumu does the same. Right after he screams. 

In his head of course. 

*

He’s once again dying from the lack of air conditioning, wheezing his eyes from the heat that crawls up his skin like a parasite. Atsumu fights against the heat, he’s in a boxing cage with air conditioning as he battles in repertoire to the blazing silhouette in front of him. Oh god. He’s going crazy isn’t he?

His eyes traveled to Shouyou on autopilot. It’s an automatic setting drilled into his brain. He’s chatting with Bokuto, most likely raking up another brainless conversation on why the earth is flat. Atsumu does not care to listen. Or lose any more brain cells in his amygdala. 

Atsumu prefers to keep all his cells intact for the remainder of the season. 

In the glory of the sweat and monstrosity of the heat that slackens how moist his lips are, Shouyou licks them. He’s always licking his lips, even without realizing it. Atsumu watches sweat and water dribble from his jaw, as he straightens, wiping away the drudgery that volleyball has catalyzed his body. 

“Shouyou.” His lips catch in rewind, repeating his name in a deaf mantra, that everyone can hear except for him. His voice is the language of silent communication between the external forces that tear him limb to limb. 

Shouyou. Can you hear me. Shouyou

“Atsumu? Are you feeling okay? You’re shaking.” Shouyou is right, he is shaking. His body is in shivers which does fucking wonders to his busted body temperature that might as well overheat and be burnt as a croissant. 

He’s not alright. “I’m fine, mind your own business would ya’?” Shouyou indefinitely understands the language that Atsumu’s tongue dares to speak. Shouyou understands how Atsumu breathes, the way his body moves in a constant motion. 

But Atsumu is the one who whispers the oscillating motion, he guides the blind into the light and out of the dark. Little does he know, there is no weak or blind. 

Atsumu is only naive. He walks the lines of hopeless and rash. The lines, you see, they aren’t straight. They shake and waver as he walks the lines that melt into one single thread that tugs him along. 

At the end of the thread lies Shouyou. 

It appears to always be him. Which is conceivable and deniable in Atsumu’s eyes. In his eyes, Shouyou is walking away. He’s stalking from across the net. Coach Forester rambles about unimportant plays as his words turn into mush. All the windows in the gymnasium where practice is held are open. Giving the perfect opportunity for the sun to rise in its afternoon triumph. It’s pompous flares taunt the golden skin that Shouyou developed from playing beach volleyball on the beaches of Brazil. He knows that specific and possibly irrelevant information: That he’s gotten a tan while in hibernation halfway across the globe, because maybe, just maybe he follows his Instagram.

Atsumu, rather becomes a wingless bird never prepared to take flight. Shouyou is already gone, taken apart by the sea. He can only see the aftermath, the storm destroying all evidence of the entity that once roamed the earth. 

Shouyou is a celestial being composed of tears and the earth's atmosphere. Atsumu gently wipes away the tears before they can nurture the earth’s soil. 

Shouyou. Shouyou. “Atsumu.”

He can hear his voice from a distance. “Atsumu!” 

It’s Shouyou, the boy with wobbly knees and a crooked smile that he’s fallen into the inner layer of the planets and solar system that Atsumu has landed to his final destination. 

“Are you alright? You’ve been really out of it today.” Bokuto comes behind to surprise him with a hearty and excruciating slap on his back. What the hell man. 

Swatting him like the pesky flies that used to visit the Miya summer home, he flicks him away. “Yah, yah I’m fine. Stop being so annoying and go whine and wag your tail at ‘Kaashi-san.

Frankly he’s thankful Akaashi(the boyfriend) isn’t present. He has this eerie vibe about him that quite frankly Atsumu prefers to stay away from. He’s probably a fucking genie that if you rub his hidden lamp then he’ll grant you three wishes. All-knowing for the lack of a better term is the more suitable terminology. Atsumu, you aren’t doing setter dumps today, are your wrists okay? Atsumu, there are no vegetables on your plate, you won’t be able to grow any more if you don’t eat all the proper nutrients. Well fuck you an’ your vegetables Akaashi. 

Sorry. He shouldn’t be so sour to Akaashi(the boyfriend) because he’s the only reason why Osamu’s onigiri shop is doing so well. Thanks for the business he supposes. 

Bokuto, because he is a twenty-four year old man-child who’s incapable of swallowing his pills, blows a raspberry that spatters on his chin. Atsumu curls his lips, wiping off the spit with his hand. 

He could’ve sworn he heard Sakusa click his tongue in perpetual disgust. 

“Tsum-Tsum, why are you so cruel?” He begs. 

“You just spit on me.” He growls, shaking his fist at him. Like that’s going to stop the overgrown adolescent from barging into his apartment, or stop stealing from his pantry. 

Behind them, Shouyou laughs. And oh, Atsumu stutters. He trips over his shoes and almost face plants in front of his whole team. 

The laugh is like honey that trickles in thick droplets. He could bathe in that laugh. Atsumu is a backwards broken man, and all he can think is don’t stop. 

Shouyou laughs like cherry blossoms, he catches him in the width of his fingers. He clutches him to his chest, can you laugh one more time, he whispers. 

Atsumu is definitely not shit-faced in love with Shouyou.

*

He receives an email from his mother. The same woman who birthed him and his brother in the Hyogo Central hospital. The same woman who insists that the pair wear the same clothing until they were in primary school. The same woman who emails on a weekly basis fretting over if he’s eating enough.

She also barks at him like a mad woman for leaving her on read when she sends him emails. He’s apologized several times, both in email and in person. His mother has also not met Shouyou yet and he’ll suffer through all her nosy questions and suffering than for her to be introduced to Shouyou. 

She asks him if he’d like to meet for brunch at the terrace restaurant in Hyogo where he grew up. 

He has to reply back, otherwise she’ll virtually beat his ass. It’s not like Osamu receives the same cold-hearted treatment as he does. 

She emails him one night. He ponders in front of his computer screen leaning against the wall of his bed frame. The unsettling and extremely concerning repetitive thumping noise makes him question his sanity and his teammates, as he slams his fist against the wall. 

He’ll give them a piece of his mind tomorrow. 

Atsumu sits, legs criss-crossed and contemplating his response. 

Finally he reaches a verdict and chooses to ignore his mother for the third consecutive time. 

*

That same night, Atsumu booked one train ticket for a round trip to Hyogo. 

*

“You didn’t reply to my email.” Is the first words that spew from her mouth the moment Atsumu sits down. 

She’s already ordered for the both of them. As much as he’d love to argue and sway the taunting conversation towards what he’s decided to order, it’s impossible now. 

“Mom.” The words dispense in the air for a fraction of a second before plummeting to the ground. 

“Atsumu, it’s certainly been a while, has volleyball taken over your life so much that you don’t have even a minute to respond to your mother’s email?” 

Now he knows where he inherited the pettiness from. 

He sighs, as the waiter brings them their drinks. His mother orders him a Diet Coke, and then the waiter brings a bottle of fine wine that even makes his nostrils squirm from the strong repugnant smell. “I”—ducking his head down sheepishly, “sorry.” 

His mother seems satisfied with his half-assed apology as she takes a sip of her wine. The jazz blues that play overhead in the speakers begin to irritate him so he plays the sailor moon theme song in his head instead. It also mutes his mother’s voice which is a plus. 

“Atsumu.” A pause. It’s a very dangerous pause. And strikes fear that rumbles in his bones. 

The food comes, and he takes a sip of his Diet Coke, as it goes dribbling down the wrong pipe and he coughs into his sleeve. His mother concerned but deep down in that wretched soul of hers that he inherited, she’s probably laughing at his misery. 

Epic. 

His mother, who now appears neither appeased or concerned over his son’s current state of health, takes a bite of her pesto cavatappi, neatly wiping the corner of her mouth with the stitched napkin on her lap. She smiles curtly, her eyes quickly scanning for all defaults to point out. The way his jacket is too dirty, or how his buttoned up shirt that he’d thrown on haphazardly, was also dirty and speckled with suspicious looking sauce(ketchup). 

“Atsumu, darling, we need to catch up.” She pierces her lips, before a curtain of refinance and providence falls and she takes over to close the gap between his leaning hand on the table. Ah, there it is, the soft side of her always scowling and disapproving mother. The same woman who birthed him and his big-headed brother: Osamu. 

The same woman who let him stay home when he was sick with the seasonal flu, fed him fatty tuna rice balls. Let him stay cozy and warm in his bunk bed— his parents were cheap and persisted they’d be even closer. I doubt there’s anything closer than being stuck in your womb for nine months, leeching off your protein and nutrients. The sentiment was halfway there though. 

Atsumu loves his mother, she was the brightest star, and could even compete with Shouyou for the place. He would give her the North Star, the one who burns so brightly through the telescope she’d bought them both for his seventh birthday. She raised them to be kind, mature, appropriate. 

His mother doesn’t know about Shouyou, who he is, or he is to Atsumu. Besides a roommate who willingly and kindly allowed him to crash at his place after taking a morning flight from Brazil. He opted to leave out that he’s gay. 

Now the reason, he saw the cruel embers of homophobia. The demons that lurk in the media, in the streets. Atsumu prefers to separate his sexuality from his athletic life for those reasons. 

Atsumu has always been pretty good at keeping secrets. 

“You know how everything’s been, ya keep up with the media don’t you?” resting his cheek on his palm while forking through the miso-tofu salad. His trainer recommended he go light on the heavier fats and dairy since the beginning of the season. If his mother had anything better to say, then she would’ve commended his trainer. 

Oh shit, she’s staring. He quickly stuffs a forkful of tofu into his mouth. “But we rarely meet for lunch these days. You should invite that boy you brought along last time. Benjiro was it?”

To clarify, his mother loves Bokuto. For some unknown reason and it really perplexed Atsumu. Bokuto is a people pleaser, he’s always had a knack for connecting with people. He still doesn’t understand why people open up to him, he's the most irritating person on earth. The first and last time he brought Bokuto over for lunch with his mother was a month ago where they met at a small business Udon noodle shop per Bokuto’s recommendations. 

Bokuto acted like a gentleman, to his own extent of capabilities. He greeted his mother with a respectful handshake, even went for a hug once the check was delivered, that he offered and demanded he pay. 

Bokuto is both a man of mysteries and an open book, however the last thing he needs is to have his mother split open Bokuto with questions, especially about his non-existent love life. Because Bokuto is a terrible liar, and he means a liar. As in, he can’t even keep a damn secret if he eats all the peanut butter cookies that Shouyou keeps in a glass jar on top of the kitchen counter. 

So yes, Bokuto can’t keep a secret for shit. Therefore he will not be bringing any platonic plus ones anymore, or any roommates that happen to be named Shouyou Hinata(especially not him). 

“His name is Bokuo. And no I’m not bringing him again.” 

His mother sets the wine glass to her lips, probably to hide the distaste, but Atsumu knows that look all too well. Primly, she slices a piece of grilled white chicken and delicately places it into her mouth. 

She swallows, taking approximately 10.5 seconds and counting. Before she says, “Atsumu, you should invite me to one of your volleyball games.”

He snorts, quickly recovering by drinking the cup of water at his side. “Mom, you’re the one who protested against me and ‘Samu playin volleyball when we were younger.” He accuses. 

His mother's eyes twinkle, he could give her the North Star if he tried right? Carve out the stars that dangle from the ruthless sky and let them fall together. He could give her his heart, would that be enough? Hell, he could give her anything and that’d never be enough. So instead he carefully hands her the grief and struggles that mothers become burdened with the moment he came out of the womb. 

Grief comes in the form of a casket, a will(size- 8 by 4, and still wrinkled to this day and illegible) The shrine that stands in the corner of the yellow living room she uses specifically for him. His father’s photo slowly withers from the sunlight, but not in memory. 

“Osamu is different, he has a fiance and he’s getting engaged.” Yes. He knows this information as well. As if his shallow brother doesn’t boast his daily vlog update on the wedding everyday. He’s happy for him. But you didn’t hear it from Atsumu. 

He really wants to throw his fork, but he’s in public and instead Atsumu keeps his hands to himself like a five year old in time out. Fuck you Osamu. 

Swirling his salad, as the lettuce wraps around the tines of the utensil, he hums the chorus of the sailor moon opening theme song. Where was he? 

“I see you’re just as incorrigible as ever.” His mother glances with a gentle sour look, believe it or not she can make that look. 

He shrugs, “what can I say, I inherited it from you.” 

She scoffs, reaching over to swat his head playfully. “It’s good to see you again, Atsumu.” 

*

Shouyou stands in the corner of his mind. Huddled in the background, a glowing ember ready to burst. It’s best to stop before it gets worse. 

After they finish, to accomplish his mother's dream of acting like the perfect gentleman, he takes the check. 

“Likewise.” He whispers. 

*

Atsumu doesn’t have his first crush, or whatever kids called it back then until middle school. The girl’s name is Asami, she has large brown eyes and a small cupid bow shaped lips that is meant to be kissed. She wore bubblegum chapstick, and had long flamboyant hair the color of fire. When she was nervous, she fiddled with her fingers and when she was feeling confident she picked at the loose curls of her fiery red hair. Her laugh was flowery and erupted yellow daisies that sprouted from his chest. When he confronted his mother of the odd sensation, she had greeted him with a mother’s smile at the age of thirteen. 

It means you’re in love.

What is love? Is it melancholy that wrapped itself in the wings of the heart? Does it pinch the walls of the chambers to cut off the flow of oxygen, making it practically impossible to breathe. Or is love the gentle guidance of a hand that holds you close? Atsumu was bound to find out, as three days later he had his first kiss. The kiss did taste like bubblegum chap-stick, and he felt nothing after. Nothing was a melting void of a key that locked the heart in a cage. 

At sixteen, he replaces the yellow daisies with a golden crown in a shape of volleyball. He conquers lands, and becomes a tyrant of his own kingdom. The next love comes to gouge his heart from where the key locked it up. It comes with a bang and goes as light as a feather. 

His name is Hayato and he sat in front of Atsumu in Japanese. He liked basketball, was in the basketball club and enjoyed trading Pokemon cards. He was similar to ninety-nine percent of the boy’s in Inarizaki High, but was the one percent that managed to break his heart. His laugh was a thunderstorm that crackled and broke into his core, unlike the yellow daisies that Asami left in him. 

He despised it. He despised himself, the measly crush that clouded his judgement during volleyball-the only being in the form of a he, and the court to worship on the altar. 

He tells Osamu, while they’re sitting together on the patio during the summer, after Hayato moves to America for his parent’s engineering job. He doesn’t confess like a romance novel, or a shoujo manga, where roles are reserved and he’s the one with the tail between his legs. Normally, under most circumstances of Osamu being a broody high-schooler, he’d laugh and throw a few vulgar words his way. ‘Okay’ he says, and continues to sip his pocari sweat. The one in Atsumu’s palm cascading on his thumb as he licks the watered down drink away. 

‘Okay.’ and they sit together on the patio as the heat roars and the sun settles down to meet the rest of the world. 

Shouyou is different, he’s the bittersweet taste you get after eating a lemon. Shouyou enters the atmosphere with a single objective in mind: to completely ruin the compressed bubble of malice and solitude that Atsumu prided himself in creating. 

When he meets Shouyou, he’s different from the rest. One day, he’ll discover how, and he does- seven years later. 

Shouyou is different, but Atsumu wants to kiss him. 

*

Simple is born from dedication and propseration. Atsumu is a lost traveler that trudges along the treacherous sand storm, simple is the missing piece that fills his heart, body and mind. Then simple is born. But Shouyou is not simple, Bokuto is simple-minded destined in the one-way stage of glory. Sakusa rinses away the complications, and determines his own simplicity. 

But Shouyou, it’s always Shouyou that makes everything so damn difficult. Like how his shirt rides up when he goes in for a spike, that almost Atsumu almost drops the ball every time. He manages to steal his breath away, and Atsumu hates that. He hates being powerless, but in a game of volleyball he’s in all power or that’s how his job as a setter is meant to go. Not the other way around where he’s being pulled by the balls of chains on his feet by Shouyou. 

He always thought he was the star of the team but he was wrong it’s Shouyou. It’s always Shouyou. Shouyou is the bleeding star that runs across the sky, and in the center of the universe is volleyball. Matches like these, where he’s in the zone and there are five other people that share the same mindset as him. There’s nothing stopping them. It’s game point, the rotation where Shouyou is in the perfect position and he thanks the universe for this bound alignment. The serve comes shooting right into Sakusa’s platform, a perfect pass. Thanks a lot Omi-Omi, he gets a free pass from Atsumu stealing his shampoo. 

“Atsumu!” Bokuto calls out, he fakes an outside set, Sakusa on the rear. 

Then Atsumu thinks to himself. In accordance with Neptune that climbs around the dancing sun, he too bows in the strength of its brightness. But it’s not for him, and Helios rises from the earth, he jumps before him and he swiftly delivers the sun to him. The spur of the sun transforms into the ball as Shouyou hits it right into the left corner. 

The whistle blows, the final point delivered by Hinata Shouyou and all he can think is, it’s him. It’s always him. Bokuto raises his fist to the air, and whoops in victory, followed by jumping on Shouyou. Shouyou yelps, and Atsumu knows this is how catharsis is. Catharsis grabs his hands and breaks his bones. 

“Atsumu, nice set.” Shouyou says, and Atsumu shrugs. It’s his job, to carefully deliver the ball to his greedy hands. 

Nice hit Shouyou, but he already knows. 

*

That night after their win, instead of joining his teammates to celebrate he takes a cheap Uber to Shibuya where their apartment is located. Immediately as soon as he shuts the door closed. He heads into the bathroom to take a cold shower. They’ve run out of hot water since he hasn’t paid the water bill in a month-so it’s ice cold and splashes onto his face and he shudders. 

He thinks of Shouyou in the ever-lasting moments of prestige and glory. The terrible butterflies in his stomach won’t go away and it’s so shitty that he doesn’t realize his fingers are digging into his palms until he winces out of the trance. 

Oh god, he’s so screwed isn’t he? Even more screwed that when he replaced pee into Osamu’s shampoo bottle? Or when he pranked Bokuto into accidentally taking Sakusa’s towel from the locker room? On the contrary, Shouyou is not the same. This is not a harmless prank, this is Atsumu and the crushing defeat that swells in his chest. 

His hands linger, and he stills in motion. Don’t do it. You’re not that desperate. But I am, he replies. 

Suddenly the door to their apartment unlocks, and the clinking of keys are set down on the dining room table. “Atsumu?” Shouyou hesitantly calls out. 

He scrambles to turn off the water, and the frigid air hits him hard. He finds sweatpants that are most likely dirty on a pile of clothing near the corner of his bed. He really needs to do laundry. And by that he means hire Sakusa to deep clean his clothing, the cheapest and safest way. 

He’s rushing to put on his shirt, possibly knocking into a few unknown objects along the way when Shouyou knocks and opens his bedroom door. 

“You left early, are you feeling okay?” He’s tipsy, pink pinching the edge of his pinks but he’s sober enough to remember their apartment number. 

“Like I have to explain myself to you. I was tired alright?” 

Shouyou rolls his eyes, he’s been putting up with Atsumu’s vague bullshit for long enough that their meaningless bickering is another ritual to perform. “Yah yah, whatever you say.”

Atsumu grins, he’s won the battle. Just this once at least. Razor sharp until his finger grazes over his palm and he winces. 

He must’ve sliced his palm in the bathroom. “Ah, shit I’m bleeding.”

“Take a seat.” He quickly instructs, like a waiter inside a fancy restaurant and Atsumu is the customer in his own bedroom

Apprehension crosses over a familiar face as Shouyou gently cradles his hand with dumbfounding gentleness that Atsumu almost recoils. But that would make him more of an asshole than usual, so he stays put and lets Shouyou play nurse. “I’ll get the first aid kit, stay where you are.” Shouyou orders. 

He can’t help but snort, “where am I supposed to go exactly?” 

“Not funny.” 

“You have to admit, I am funny sometimes.” 

“No.” Moments later, Shouyou returns with the kit as promised. 

He lets him take him by the wrist, not so gently this time. He probably deserved it. Shouyou rifles through the first aid kit, looking extremely dissatisfied by the bare collection of band-aids. “Looks like these will do.” 

He pulls out an extra large hello kitty band-aid. 

“Fantastic.” Atsumu echos and Shouyou brushes his arm, his skin is so hot, he feels as if he’s standing on top of a fire. 

He sticks out his tongue, but wets the cloth provided with alcohol, he wiggles like a six year old getting their first hair cut at the barber shop. “Stop wiggling, it’s almost over.” Shouyou slaps his shoulder, and doesn’t seem sympathetic at all. 

“You shouldn’t bully the weak.” Atsumu frowns, and Shouyou offers a light laugh. 

He wraps the wound, now dry from the cleaned up blood. “Says the one wearing the hello kitty band-aid.” 

Then there’s a pregnant pause that spells in the air for too long, he could slice it like a loaf of wheat bread. The lights need to be repaired but dust stirs together around Shouyou’s eyes so that it becomes dirt. He would never call anybody breathtaking (maybe expect for himself, if that isn't too narcissistic). 

“Thanks.” He awkwardly offers. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in hello kitty band-aids, hearing the never ending chorus of the sailor moon theme song. Helios collapses into the earth's soil that you shed tears to harvest. 

“No problem.” 

One step closer. 

*

“I have a question.” It’s light outside, too bright and humid to do anything productive. 

Osamu on the other line is chowing down on a lollipop much to his annoyance. “What is it?” 

“Can you stop chompin’ on that lollipop of yours like a hippopotamus?” 

Osamu pops the lollipop from his mouth. “I’m hanging up.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” At this point he probably would. “I actually need your advice.” He probably sounded miserable and evoked joy in his brother. 

He really hated doing this. 

“Alright, what do ya want?” 

“What do you think of Shouyou- I mean Hinata?” 

Osamu chokes on his lollipop. Atsumu wanted to laugh, but because he’s working on being a better person he doesn’t. 

Osamu finally answers, voice strained and twisted. “Ya mean that scrub that wiped our ass years ago?” He imagines the empty light bulb glowing up at the connection. “The boy that’s camping out in yer apartment and the same boy yer in love with?” 

Geez. Does everyone know except him? 

Yes. 

“That’s a bit of a stretch ya know?” He argues, unwinding and rewinding the cords of his earphones. There’s no one in the apartment. Shouyou is on his early morning run, they haven’t spoken since last night. 

“Then why is he still ‘crashing’ at your apartment?” he can see the air quotes Osamu’s making from the other side. 

“‘Crashing’” he mimics, “is subjective.” 

“Says the guy who’s been in love for seven years.” 

Ouch. 

“Besides the shitty roast, you never answered my question asshole.” Atsumu scoffs. 

Osamu begins to blow the bubble of his lollipop, “why shoulda answer somethin’ ya already know? 

“Have I mentioned how much I fucking loathe you?” 

“You’ll thank me later.” Like hell I will. Atsumu hears unregistered noises from the background of Osamu’s line. 

“Like hell I will.” he finally replies. 

“‘Sumu?” Osamu’s voice is darker, more serious. 

He rolls his eyes, “what is it, ya big oaf?”

“Good luck.” 

He sighs, his brother already knows. Everyone knows except for him. 

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” 

*

You are Helios, I am nothing but Icarus who flew too close to the sun. You are Helios, have you captured the sun? Atsumu’s wound becomes a bridge that weaves them together, the thread of hope links their common worlds as one. 

Nothing changes, he still plays, he still rules the world, grasping the audience, and teetering on the edge. Shouyou is still the true ruler, with Atsumu bidding by his side. Bokuto is still the same annoying one-track mind man-child that raids his apartment on a weekly basis. Sakusa has yet to prove he’s telekinetic but he could’ve sworn that threw that vase at his face on purpose. Life goes on, but Atsumu’s heart continues to agonize him with those untraceable feelings. 

Sakusa. The damn asshole who perseveres on how he’s not telekinetic or psychic, and those stupid overly flexible wrists. He really hates that guy.

But he will ask him the same question. Sakusa. What? He will answer. What do you think of Hinata? He would give him that air-head look with his signature turn of the nose. It’s his own special way of actually caring. You’re the one who is living with him. Atsumu gets to roll his eyes this time, and he’ll say, but he’s your teammate.

Sakusa will glance at him from beneath his face mask, you really are fucking annoying. 

I know, Sakusa, it’s my proudest personality trait. 

Sakusa won’t answer him, because he’s already fucking psychic and it really pisses him off. 

Fuck you. He’ll say to imaginary Sakusa. 

*

Once, in another life, in another universe the one where he’d eaten his twin and was an only child. The parallel of his father being alive, a family of three sitting down to eat breakfast together. He watches from outside the window in longing. That's him, but it’s not. Atsumu struggles between the boundaries of reality, where does he fit in? 

Seven years later does he discover where he fits in. He finds himself fit between the cities of Chiba and Hamamatsu, in the popular city of Shibuya City. In a two bedroom apartment on the high rise overlooking Yoyogi Park from the sixteenth floor. Miya Atsumu is 23, he was born on October 5th, in 1995. He was born to two very loving parents, then at the age of ten, his father died of a brain tumor. The brain tumor sneaks up on him, lurking in the grass and ready to pounce. His mother no longer becomes his mother, and is replaced with grief. 

At age seventeen, his path crosses with a stranger that he has no business with, in fact, the scrub was nothing but a 5’4 mop of orange hair(similar to Asami’s but that’s unhelpful). Until wings unfurl before his eyes, and he takes flight. I want to set him, I want to set him. 

At 23, Atsumu becomes Icarus, slain and driven by a wedge to the sun. 

At 23, Shouyou appears at his door on a stormy night, dripping in rain and pride, the same tenacity that scorched him from the knees to the tip of his tongue. Shouyou asks for a place to stay and Atsumu lets him in. 

Once in another life, where Atsumu didn’t have crippling feelings for him, he wouldn’t have let him in. But Atsumu is not so kind, he takes Helios by the skin and yanks him from out of the ground. Peeling away layer by layer, Atsumu is soon grasping for hollow bones, and Helios arises from the molten seedlings of anguish. 

Helios has awakened. 

*

Atsumu’s own wings begin to unfurl. Shouyou is different and Atsumu still wants to kiss him. 

*

Imagine this: you’re sitting in the living room of the apartment you share with Shouyou, Shouyou who is busy scrolling through his Instagram. Two bento sets plated in front of each of them. Shouyou carefully lifts his chopsticks to inspect the spicy tuna, and decides to start with the vegetable spring rolls. 

Atsumu sets his chopsticks down, motion slows down in verbatim. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

*

Shouyou drops his chopstick, and his phone slips from his hands. 

The world moves in verbatim, and with a push of his palm, bleeding, scraped and bruised, he brings the world to a halt. Bokuto’s adolescent shouting ceases to a stop, and the apartment next door is quiet. The whole world halts to a stop in the presence of Icarus. 

Finally, Helios whispers the words of the weak. “What did you say?”

*

When having difficulty breathing, his mother always taught him to count to ten, and so follows: one, two, three- he stops. 

Atsumu’s breath is hollow, is he evening breathing? His stomach feels empty, he can wait for the answer that’ll be music to his ears, almost like the sailor moon theme song playing the background to fill the empty noise. But he can’t seem to remember how it goes. Atsumu finishes: four, five, six. But wait, where’s Shouyou in the mess, is he hidden under the tangle and chords of Atsumu's terrible confession? He never finishes counting. 

If Atsumu’s life was a romantic Shoujo manga, then he would’ve been casted as the clumsy and head over heels in love protagonist. He would fiddle with his skirt, play with his heart necklace, wear curlers in his hair to impress his crush. But this is reality, and they are not the same. So instead, Atsumu is sitting in his(their) living room. Yellow daisies filling his lungs and all he thinks is Shouyou, look how far I’ve fallen. Help me. 

But Shouyou can’t hear him and he’s absorbed in a border of shell-shock and bewilderment. He says it again. Again and again. 

Shouyou chokes on his tuna roll

“I think I’m in love with you.” he repeats. 

Shouyou is able to swallow his tuna roll. 

Atsumu embraces fate like an old friend, he embraces Helios and the tantalizing burns he radiates. 

*

“That’s good, because I think I’m in love with you too.” 

*

Atsumu wakes up from the dream. His mother is sitting on the edge of the patio, Osamu sitting on the other side, as they bicker over ice cream flavors. In his dream, his mother smiles like the stars that cover the sky blue atmosphere. Heaven rains the wishes of each individual, his mother prays for her husband's health and Atsumu wishes for a new PlayStation. 

In his dream, Osamu is a child, and not a full grown man that’s getting engaged, and his father leans against the doorway of their three level rustic modern house on the outskirts of Hyogo. His father is healthy, not infirmed with sickness. Out of nowhere, Shouyou drags him from the dream and he too awakens. 

“I’m going to kiss you.” Atsumu pulls him close, and he just might let him do that. 

Atsumu who’s been struck by a thousand arrows, whose wings have finally unfurled into growth. Atsumu’s chest opens, revealing the assembly of old and the new. Daisies become red chrysanthemums bleeding into the stems and roots of Shouyou’s heart. 

Shouyou smells like hope and the future, as he glides his hands along the creases of his palms. “I just might let you.” 

And he does. There are no fireworks that erupt in the background, there’s no desperate confession that leaks of their mutual love for each other. They're sitting in the apartment, where the night falls in glass curtains around them. There’s no gushing romantic declarations of love, unfortunately for his brother who would love to hear a tear-jerking love story. This story is not for him.

Shouyou is different, but Atsumu is the same, and he finally gets to kiss him. He tastes like soy sauce, and tuna rolls. He finally stays. 

You are 148.27 million kilometers from the sun Shouyou, but one kilometer from being the sun he used to think, but now Atsumu has reached his final destination. 

Home. 

*

Atsamu learns two things, the first being that he’s definitely allergic pickles, and that Hinata Shouyou likes to take milk with his coffee. He learns both through time and patience, and he soon learns a third thing: Atsamu finally learned how to love and he found it in a small bright form of the sun named Hinata Shouyou. 

Among other things he learns, like how Bokuto gets super depressed when he isn’t around Akaashi(the boyfriend who isn’t so bad) he’s always moping at his apartment. It’s up to him, the best teammate ever to cheer him up with ice cream and red bean buns. He also learns how Sakusa likes to walk into his apartment at five-fucking o’clock in the morning just to disinfect his house before he comes over. 

Then, a few nights later, when Shouyou is asleep in bed for the fifth time in a row after evening practice, he sits in the very same position as last time debating on his next decisions. Which gets interrupted after Shouyou wakes up and he peppers him with kisses, but he’s not complaining. 

“Come to bed it’s late.” Shouyou murmurs from the bed sheets, and his hand sneaks up Atsumu’s shirt. 

He gives a satisfactory kiss on the forehead, and reels his focus on the thing he hasn’t made peace with. “Give me one second.” 

Atsumu’s fears dissolve in the shadows. And for the first time, Atsumu is the one who emails her first. His mother is the next unknown variable he has yet to solve. 

**To: Koharu.miya@hotmail.com**

**From: miya.atsumu@yahoo.com**

Mom, the next time we meet, there’s someone I’d like you to meet . He’s someone very special to me. 

After he hits send, relief stumbles and collides among the lost stars. Minutes later, he gets a reply. And his fingers skitter on the keyboard to open up his email. 

**From: Koharu.miya@hotmail.com**

**To: miya.atsumu@yahoo.com**

I’d love to meet him. 

*

Once in a million years, Helios rises from the ashes, and Icarus falls from the sun. And one day, the earth decides he’s had enough and swallows them. If you listen closely in the morning, you can hear the lingering cries from the God of the sun—Helios that once stood. 

Go on, ask Atsumu again if he’ll answer. 

*

Today, Atsumu wakes up and feels the morning glow of Helios gently tickle his skin, and he answers. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello you have reached the end of this fic: a few notes about this fic and the process of writing this mother trucker buttcheek on a stick:
> 
> this was a journey born from a certain author that i've dedicated this fic to, elmo. elmo,, whether ur reading this or not.. u are the reason and main inspiration for this fic.. this fic blossomed upon me stumbling on the atsuhina tag curious to find ur fic, 'launching merrily down the path of sin again' and ive been obssessed with atsuhina and ur writing just captured my attention like a moth to the flame. ur writing style struck home for me, and made me grow in this fic esp my style and usage of metaphors and imagery ahah... elmo, they are amazing, and so funny and talented and i hope you enjoy this fic I've written that would've never happened if I hadn't read ur stories. 
> 
> nothing gold can stay was one of the first that was truly long, and a journey of feelings and esp since ATSUMU PINED FOR SEVEN WHOLE YEARS FOR HINATA.. come on someone tell me that isn't love... this is a character study of some sorts for atsumu but more of a non-established relationship study in a way of how atsumu views hinata. there isn't a lot direct dialouge between the actual couple so i apologize i mainly focused on atsumu's introspection and the interactions between other characters to build the story..
> 
> id like to thank elmo ofc,,, u are the guiding light in bringing this fic to a finish. kris... oh kris tysm for baring w me throwing all of my writing as sneek peaks.. i hope also enjoy the final show... and among others like bea and kou who read my writing and assured me when i really needed it.. u all are the true shining stars. and so i must go,, and begin the sequel.. if people do enjoy this fic... and so if you'd like then follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sarahartzzz)
> 
> As always, if u did enjoy this fic, feel free to let me know with a comment or a kudos if you’d like 🥺❤️
> 
> ty for reading this journey and i hope to see u again.


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